ed back at her mistress' enthusiasm.
Her blue eyes lighted with admiring loyalty. She was blonde, big boned
and so strongly built as to look actually formidable. Competency and
reserve power fairly radiated from her. Her voice betrayed her
Scandinavian ancestry.

"Ya-as," she said, "and in another week they'll be fighting for us."

Mary got up from her chair and went to the window, threw it wide open and
looked out on the city. She saw its myriad lights rimming the shore of
the inland sea. She heard its roar--deep, passionate, powerful. In her
imagination she laid her ear close to the city's heart and she heard it
beat strong and true. The smile had left her face and a prayer formed
itself silently on her lips. The revery lasted only a moment.

"And now," she said, "for the next movement in the battle." She indicated
the letters. "There's our ammunition, Anna," she said. "Mail them. I've
picked you for a great honor. You're to open the engagement with a
fusillade of bombshells."

CHAPTER XI

A BOMB FOR MR. GROGAN

The telephone in the outer office of the Lake City Telephone Company rang
insistently. Miss Masters, the stenographer, after the fashion of
stenographers, let it ring. At length the telephone gave vent to a long,
shrill, despairing appeal and was silent. Then, and then only, did Miss
Masters lay aside the bundle of letters she was sorting and pick up the
receiver.

"Yes?" she said. "Well, what is it?"

Apparently a voice responded.

"Speak a little louder, please," the girl said impersonally. "I can't
hear a single word you're saying."

More words from the outside poured through the receiver.

"Yes." Miss Masters nodded mechanically. "Yes, this is the main office of
the Lake City Electrical Company. What?"

There was another pause.

"This is Miss Masters at the 'phone,--yes--yes--I'm the stenographer.
What's that? Private secretary? Yes, I am Mr. John Boland's private
secretary. No, our president, Mr. Harry Boland, has not come downtown
yet. We are expecting him at any moment."

A red-headed office boy stuck an inquisitive head through the door.

"Who's that," he demanded, "someone for the boss?"

Miss Masters merely motioned him to silence.

"Yes," she went on, "his father, Mr. John Boland, will be in some time
during the morning. Who shall I say called?"

The girl waited for the answer and hung up the receiver.

"Who is